


Tear My Stillhouse Down

by tori1116



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Flashbacks, Language, M/M, Past Child Abuse, There's nothing related to Justified, These people are their own warning, but that's what I was thinking when I wrote this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tori1116/pseuds/tori1116
Summary: In a old town where everyone is either a criminal or a cop.When Daryl helped his brother hit a truck, he didn't know who did it belong to. Turned out, it was from someone he had a past with. Someone who was as tied to this damn town as him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are highly appreciated!

“So, what do you say?” asked Merle, who was standing there, with that shit- eating “don’t give a fuck” grin on his face, looking every bit like a big ass motherfucker.

He hummed thoughtfully, knew better than anyone that the idiot wasn’t really the type of dumb thick muscle who had a brain the size as a peanut as people would like to think. But time like this? It made him wonder.

Something cold touched the hand he was resting on the bar table, he twitched his head and shed a glance at it. Behind the bar, the old girl had opened a bottle of beer and slid it to him. She smiled in response, after he murmured a “Thanks”, then went back working in the bar with a damp cloth in her hand, pretending she knew nothing of what the big men were talking about.

Face turned back to Merle, he replied with a shrug, “I say it’s bullshit, man.” Taking a swig of beer, he added, “I say it’s dumb ass suicide.” His voice was husky, but he said it as clear as he could.

“What’s the matter with you? Don’t be such a goddamn pussy, little bro,” Merle gave him a half-ass scold. “I’ve planed it all. We know the time and the route, we have the men and the guns, it gonna be a piece of cake. What the fuck are you afraid of?”

“I donno,” he mumbled. “Just don’t think hitting a truckload of shit that belongs to whoever the fuck sounds like a good idea. That bastard Philip wouldn’t do business with just anyone. Who know what kind of shit we might get ourselves into.”

As if trying to show something that’s right under Daryl’s nose, Merle pointed a finger at him, “That truckload of shit is how we going to fix everything. Once we took over the stuff, we go to the hill and make a deal with Jadis.”

Seeing the look on Daryl’s face, Merle explained it further, knowing he trusted that bitch as far as he could throw her.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t told her shit. Bitch just wants the stuff, she doesn’t give a rat ass of how we get it or who does it from. She knows she has to level up, expend a little before Philip move in at her. She gonna take the junk, and we’ll have enough cash to get out of this god forsaken town. No matter who does the truck belong to, once the stuff’s gone, Philip would be the one who takes the blame. Sonofabitch wants to bury me, I gonna fuck him right up the ass. I’ve already gather a crew, but I need you by my side.”

Merle asked him again, “So, what do you say.”

He could honestly say, this had a high potential to end up being a mass suicide.

Behind him, Carol was dedicated herself into wiping a glass at the bar. Her eyes weren’t on him or anyone at the pub, but no doubt she was paying attention. Daryl cranked his neck at her, looking at Carol questioningly.

“I say it’s stupid,” she replied without Daryl actually asking. “I don’t think you should get involve.” The old girl gave him a look, regardless of how the older Dixon was stabbing her with a nasty glare.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, you dumb bitch.”

“I wasn’t talking to you either,” she returned a steady look at Merle, didn’t especially seemed to be pissed off. The tone she used wasn’t challenging, but if Merle thought he could scare her, or that she would tolerant any of his bullshit, he should really think again.

“Wow, would you look at that,” Merle let out a sharp whistle, grinning like a complete asshole. “The man kicked the bucket, now the woman thinks she’s the queen of shit. Need me to pull up the wife-beater for ye, sweet pie? So you could remember your place?”

“I’ll love to see you try,” Carol replied coldly.

Before Merle could spat out another word, Daryl cut him off impatiently. “Shut up, you asshole,” he grunted with a glare, then biting his nails and pondered for a moment.

Pulling up the bottle of beer, he took a long draft, put it down heavily on the table, before he finally mumbled, “’kay.”

“Okay?”

He confirmed in a dry hum.

Tough he didn’t like one bit of it, there’s no other option on the table. The friendly marshal had already visited the pub once, there’s no official warrant on Merle yet, but it was only a matter of time before the cops find the hard evident that could nail him with the bodies at the shootout.

Merle couldn’t hide for long. Even now, the pub was under surveillance. The only thing that kept Marshal Grimes and his colleagues from busting in and haul Merle’s ass to the police station, wasn’t the unspoken friendship he had with Daryl and Carol, but the fact that he still hadn’t gotten the search warrant. On the other hand, if Rick’s car hadn’t been staying outside, keeping an eye on them, Philip would’ve already torn this shitty pub apart.

“Everything is going to work out just fine, little bro,” Merle announced with great confidence, flashing Daryl a shit-eating grin and pulled him into a tight hug.

Waited till Merle disappeared through the backdoor, Carol stared at him from behind the bar, looking like she had quite a few things she would like to say.

“What,” he murmured.

Carol shook her head with her arms crossed, stabbing him with the worry and disapproval in her eyes.

“You really shouldn’t get involve. I’ve a bad feeling about this.”

“So what are you suggesting, huh?” he avoided her gaze, getting a bit snappy. “Idiot’s gonna do it, with or without me. Can’t just let him get himself killed.”

He didn’t need to see the expression to know how much she believed that’s exactly what he should do.

“So you’re just gonna get yourself killed too? When are you going to stop jumping into the fire with him? You don’t need those bullshit in your life, hun, you know you are better off without him.”

“Don’t fucking say that,” he grumbled, glaring at the bottle of beer in his hand. Sure Merle was an asshole, but he was his brother; the one who used to step up and take the beating so Daryl wouldn’t have to. Whenever he's home, Daryl had never suffered more than just a few snap in the face.

“What do you think I should do,” he said with annoyance, “You think I should just tell him to go to hell? Or bring him a drink than shoot him while he isn’t lookin’? That’s your suggestion, woman? You want me to take care of my own brother like you take care of your damn husband?”

He wouldn’t say shit like that if he wasn’t so vexed. A shadow shrouded over Carol’s face, she clammed her mouth shut. The second he realized what he had said, he glanced up at her and wanted to apologize. He was suck at apologize, so he told Carol instead, “It’s gonna be alright. We could handle it.”

 

***

 

He would much rather it hadn’t turned into a shootout, but like everything in this godforsaken town, the choice wasn’t his. One of the stupid bastards (not a local) who stepped out of the truck, had decided to act brave or just being plain stupid, even through Daryl had strongly suggested that him and his pals better not to do anything as such.

“I told you we should kill those sonsofbitches from the start,” Merle bawled at him from the driver seat.

“Shut your pie hole and drive!” he growled from the backseats, without looking at his brother. A kid who Merle had brought in for the job had gotten shot in the arm. Daryl hadn’t worked with him before, but he knew the kid. There’s no one he didn’t know in this town.

He reached for the hem of his old flannel shirt, tore down a piece and wrapped it around the bullet wound tightly. Once he settled the kid down, he stretched out and took a look through the backseats window.

No one was chasing them on the road. He turned back, and saw Merle regarding the kid through the rear-view mirror. He didn’t said anything, but Daryl knew what he was thinking.

“He’s gonna be fine,” he asserted, and getting a disapproving look in return.

The only reason he could get the kid into the car, was that he had convinced his brother that the gunshot wound wasn’t as serious as it looked. The wound was far from fatal, but it sure was hurt like hell. And if the kid didn’t keep his mouth shut right now, there’s nothing could prevent Merle from pronounce him as a baggage and therefore kick his butt out of the car and shoot him in the head. It wouldn’t matter if he created another body, since the shit he had done for Philip had all been put onto him anyway.

Daryl hunched over the kid, spitting threateningly at his sweating face until he turned quiet.

When the truck arrived at the hills, Jadis and her crew had already been waiting. There’re six of them and there’re a dozen of those crazy ass hill people. Except the kid, Daryl had pulled a gig or two back in the days with the other three guys Merle had gathered up for this. They walked out the truck together, all had a gun in their hands. The kid who had gotten shot was shaking in pain, but he followed them nevertheless.

Under their watchful eyes, Jadis sauntered to the back of the truck and checking the junk. A small nod of contentment, then she signaled her own people with a wave.

A bag of cash was swung at Merle’s feet. After a quick inspection, he hauled the bag over his shoulder, talking some bullshit to Jadis while she was watching her people unloading the junk.

Nothing came out of Merle’s mouth seemed to be interested her or got on her nerves. The woman stood in silence, looking as doped as always.

Things were going smooth so far, Daryl had almost gotten to believe that everything could actually work out fine. Then the hill people finished unloading. One of Jadis’s girls sneaked up on Merle, jabbed a gun in his back before he could get back to the truck.

 

***

 

“Ugh!”

Someone kicked him hard in the back. His knees hit the ground, one of his hands was grazed when he scrambled to prop himself up, saved himself from hitting the ground with his face. He slumped on his ass, moved the other hand of his to press against the side of his waist. The gunshot wound he got was merely a scratch, if there’s anything fortunate about this situation, that’s probably it.

He glared up through his fringe. The crazy bitch was standing in front of him, staring at the horizon where the truck and the cash had vanished into with a pair of dull eyes.

“This is the fair trade you used to yapping about?” he spitted at the woman, teeth bearing sharp. “What the fuck do ye think you’re doing? You think you could just swallow the drug _and_ the money? What about your motto? Is that how you made your mama proud?”

The Scaven family wasn’t honest people, not even a least. But they were known to be traders, not traitors. As far as he remembered, Jadis and her people wouldn’t just break the rule for no good reasons. He had never liked Jadis and her crazy ass family, but that’s mostly because they’re freaks, not because they were some dirty sonsofbitches who would fuck everyone over as they pleased.

Besides him, all the men Merle brought for the job had knelt under the guns, but at least Merle had listened to him and gotten the hell out of here with the money.

The woman tipped her head. “We trade,” she drawled lazily, “We don’t bother. Unless we are.”

“What the fuck does that mean,” he queried in a low growl. “We gave you the junk, it’s a fair trade. You can easily make more cash, so why bother with us.”

“We don’t bother with you,” Jadis said. “But someone else bothered us. The junk’s good, way better than our old weed. Whoever bring the stuff into town wouldn’t just let it go. They would like to know who rob them.” She flashed Daryl a smirk. “So now, you’re going to help me get another trade.”

 

***

 

When the hill people hauled them out of the truck, a man who had a big forehead and a moustache was waiting for them at Jadis’s side, smiling friendly.

The moustache guy and the men he brought along all seemed to be outsider, which hadn’t came as a surprise, since Philip had completely pissed off the Greene family, there’s no one around would be willing to help him out. After his old supplier had been arrested, it was only logical that he would find a new friend elsewhere.

Waited until they had knelt down in a line, the moustache guy strolled from back to front, giving each one of them a glance over. “So, you are the idiot who rob us, huh?” he stood in the middle of the front and started, almost sounded sympathetic.

“Looks like you rednecks idiot really think you could do whatever you want in your hometown,” he remarked, then paused for a second to reflect his word.

“Would it sound offensive coming from a city folk?” he turned around and asked Jadis. Jadis gave him a shrug.

He returned to Daryl and his men, then clarified, “Well, I don’t want to sound offensive, I like you people, you guys are some rough motherfuckers, I’ve always admired that. Our boss is rough like that too. In fact, he was actually growing up in this very town.”

He landed his gaze at one of Daryl’s men. The guy glared at him. “Maybe you know him,” he said to the guy, mouth stretched into a grin. “You want to meet him, huh? Let’s meet the boss.”

There’s a campervan parked at the back, the moustache guy headed toward it and slammed the van’s door with a fist.

The door was pulled open from the inside; a tall man stepped out the van, shocking Daryl and some people around with his presence.

The leather jacket the man was wearing was sleek black, there’s a red scarf tied nicely around his neck. His hair had been slid back, emphasizing his strong feature. The stubble on his jaw made him looked a bit scruffy, but it wasn’t a bad look, not in the least.

A sonorous voice rose in the night, accompanied by a perfect toothy grin. “ _Are we pissing our pants yet?_ ” the man said with his arms swung out, presenting himself with the devil-might-care attitude, looking just as cocky as Daryl remembered.

 

***

 

Things started sudden, but wasn’t especially unexpected, since violence in this town was pretty much as expected as the sunrise.

Only a minute ago, they were still having a good time; most of the kids around had passed out in the living room, left only the Dixons and the Savie boy clamming in the couch, sharing the same weed.

They had laughed at the TV, like it wasn’t just some shitty show but something actually funny. Daryl had tucked himself into the corner of the couch, with Merle slumping at his side. The Savie boy had sat on the other side, arm hung over the back of the couch; the baseball bat he’d always brought with him had propped up on the floor, leaning against his leg.

Everything was fine, until the guy had made some twisted smart-crack that had gotten on Merle’s nerves. Merle, as a dope-headed idiot, forgot about who he was dealing with and let his temper get the best of him.

The older Dixon sprung out the couch and yanked the boy up by his collar.

The sight of his brother being knocked down by a vicious blow awoke Daryl from his trance, the soft feathery feeling was washed away by the sudden anger.

He jumped up in a flash, reaching at the boy’s back and tried to punch him. Before he could land his punch, a fist slammed into his stomach. He spat out in pain. The blow rattled his guts, causing the alcohol he had to surge up. The bile was burning his throat and threatened to spring out. He clammed his mouth tight, struggling to keep everything down.

Without giving him the time to recover, a hand stretched out and grabbed him by the collar. The force that dragged him forward made him dizzy for a second, then the irrational anger that was still coiling in his stomach pushed the pang and the nausea aside. He let out a throaty growl, tossed up his head and glared at the older boy.

In the corner of his eyes, he saw the baseball bat. The same barb-wired baseball bat that had once broken the Axel kid’s legs at the schoolyard and crippled him for life.

Not that the kid didn’t have it coming. That boy was an obnoxious idiot, always acted like he was the biggest boy around. He wanted to give the Savie kid a good beating, saying it was a revenge for the time he had broken his cousin’s arm at the football game. But everyone knew he only hated the kid because he made him feel like a whining little pussy. He was so desperate to prove himself wasn’t, now he had to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair, and everyone in town knew just how much of a pussy he was.

The boy had snatched the infamous baseball bat in his hand, right after he had given Daryl the punch. If Daryl was in his right mind, he might’ve tried to say some good word to defuse the situation. But he was too railed up for that.

Something was ignited inside him. His skin felt sharp, and his head was clear, as though he wasn’t a bit doped from the weed and the moonshine. It reminded him the time he had lost in the woods. It had happened a couple of years ago when Merle went into juvie. He had never told his brother about that, never told him how he had been alone in the woods for a week, or that the old man didn’t went into search for him, but just given him a beating once he was home.

After a few days alone, fending for himself, somehow he had started feeling stronger than he ever was. He had felt cautious of his surrounding, of all the danger. Sharp and alerted, instead of frightened.

The boy regarded him with a pair of keen eyes. He was taller, and vicious with the baseball bat. Daryl wasn’t scared of him.

Breaking up the eye contact, the boy spat out suddenly in an icy tone, “Screw it.” The baseball bat swung at Daryl head, created a gust of wind that was making his skin stung.

It halted just before it crashed his face. No more but an inch away.

Never a second did he falter.

“You don’t ever piss your pants, do you? ‘Course you don’t.” Tongue fled across the back of his teeth, the boy before Daryl smirked. The sharp coldness in his tone from earlier had vanished and changed into something light and sultry.

Daryl didn’t say anything in return. He wanted to meet the boy’s eyes steadily, just as he had met the baseball bat, but he cast his gaze away after a few seconds.

He never liked making eyes contact with people, and the Savie boy did have a stronger stare than him.

There’s no warning inside that gaze, only the force of its was suppressing him. Slowly, the baseball bat dropped down. Part of Daryl wanted to take the chance and strike, but he had to be more careful than that, a wrong move and it would be him who was in a wheelchair.

Keeping his hands at his side, he stayed in alert. He could practically feel his skin was peeled by those eyes when they were roaming over him.

Hauled the baseball bat over his shoulder, the older boy curled his lips into a smile. “Look at you,” he said, almost sounded like he was proud of Daryl or something. “I could be damn sure your ol’ daddy hasn’t seen you like that, Daryl boy. ‘Cause if he did, he would think twice before he pull out the wife-beater.”

“Ol' prick doesn’t scare me,” Daryl replied in a husky voice. “Neither can you.”

“Is that so,” the older boy flashed him an amused smile, then taking a step forward. The dense heat of the boy's body was too much for Daryl’s comfort, he could barely breathe with that body staying close against him.

The warm breath sharpened his skin, and he could taste the strong smell of moonshine in it. The same moonshine they had just been sharing a moment ago. Tasted like shit and blinded your eyes, making you only want _more_.

He should’ve backed down. He got uncomfortable when people standing too close.

He stayed exactly where he was.

“You really don’t scare of shit, huh? Why, I can see it,” the older boy chuckled, sending the low rumbling sound right into Daryl’s ears. “I see ye, boy, so fucking clear.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are highly appreciated!

Although the reason Philip would be thrown into this dump, it’s that his boss from Florida had had enough of his stuck-up pretentious ass, but just because he had been cut loose and cast away, doesn’t mean he hadn’t still had enough connection left in the big cities.

Daryl knew from the start that whoever Philip had hooked up with wouldn’t just be some pushover who didn’t mind being fucked, which was exactly why he had believed this was a dumbass idea at the first place. The truck was supposed to go make their first deal with Philip; Merle had learned about the detail of the exchange, before things with Philip had fallen off and the Cyclops had put the hit on him.

Once the junk’s gone, the blame would be on Philip, since he was the one who arranged the deal. The supplier would think Philip double-crossed him, Philip would be in big trouble, and Merle and Daryl would be far away with the money. That’s what Merle had figured anyway. Only in reality, Jadis had screwed them up, so now they’re still as fucked as before, if not even worst.

The sight of the men was unexpected. No one in town had thought he would ever set foot in this town again after all these years. Not even his own family. No one had heard a word from him ever since he left town. No one had known what he had been doing, where he went, or was he still alive.

Negan Savie.

That good old Savie boy.

Before Daryl could move his eyes away, the man turned his gaze on him. The grin on that too familiar face widened. Apparently, the long years from home hadn’t made him forget.

“Look at that!” Negan bawled with laughter, kicking the ground excitingly with his boot. “What do we have here?” he said, stretching his long legs and strode to Daryl, who was kneeling on the ground with a gun above his head.

“No, this can’t be, are you fucking kidding me?” The man crouched before him, tilted his head when he was regarding Daryl. “I’ll be damn--A living Dixon boy--! Wow, sweet Jesus! I just can’t believe my damn eyes!”

The warm, hearty laughter sounded exactly as it used to sound. It’s almost alarming how little he seemed to have changed. He was way more older than the time he left, and he was thicker, with more muscle had been built over his arms and his legs. But all and all, he looked the same, without a hint of silver on his sleek black hair, dark eyes still gleaming in the good-natured humor. He had more lines on his feature, but they curled up the same as they used to be whenever he was grinning.

That sly, crafty grin. “All these years,” Negan leaned forward and said, “You have no idea how much I miss you.”

Unlike him, Daryl was pretty sure he had changed considerably throughout the years. His hair had grown darker than it had been when he was a boy, and he left it hung over his shoulder and falling over his face, instead of keeping it short like he used to be. He had a stronger physique, especially in the arms. And because of the bruises and the wounds, plus the fact that he had been held captive by the hill people for over a day before the meet up, he was pretty much looked like shit at the moment.

Yet, the old Savie looked at him, as though Daryl was exactly how he remembered.

“Can’t say the same,” Daryl mumbled a comeback, eyes evading the gaze.

“Come on, Daryl, not even a little?” Negan chased his eyes for a brief moment. If it was someone else, Daryl would’ve met him dead on. But the eyes of the Savie boy were dangerous. They were like an alligator swarm.

Getting no response from Daryl, the man gave him one last look, sucking his teeth silently and stood up. “Okay, that’s hurtful,” he said with a sigh. “But not as hurtful as being robbed by my old pals.”

He took a walk before the five men who knelt under the guns, giving each one of them a disapproving look. “I have to say,” he stood in the middle and started. ”When I decided to come back home, I was expecting a warm welcoming, a cake from sweet mama Jessie, a drink at ol’ Abraham’s with some of my old friends.” He paused for a second, giving the men another look. Daryl could practically hear someone among them gulped.

“What I’m _not_ expecting,” Negan articulated, the temperature seemed to be dropping by the iciness of his voice. “—was some pig-headed imbeciles hit my truck and killed my fucking people. That was _not_ what I’ve expected, at all.”

Save from the kid who probably was just a little boy when Negan had still been around, all men in the line with Daryl had known the Savie boy back in the days.

The Anderson brothers were kneeling at a man away from Daryl. There’s a small puff of dry laugh coming from the older one, and Daryl suddenly recalled the two of them had used to follow Negan around and do whatever he said.

Caught the sound of the nervous laughter from the older Anderson, Negan stepped toward him. Anderson looked up at the man and pulled out an uneasy smile.

“Listen, man,” he started in a feigned blithe tone, clearly in a hope of picking up the fallen friendship. “I didn’t know it was you, I didn’t even know you’re back. I’m glad you are, man, it’s been a long time. You look great.”

“Why, thank you, Rory.”

“Ron,” Anderson corrected automatically.

“What the fuck ever,” the old Savie replied without giving a shit, which, if Daryl’s memory was correct, wasn’t any different than his usual attitude toward his lackeys such as the Andersons.

Exchanged a quick look with his younger brother, old Anderson strengthened the smile on his face, apparently had reckoned there’s a chance to get out of this alive, if he just kissed the ass hard enough.

“Our bad, man, we didn’t know it was you,” he said with sincerity, “Dixon told us it was just some city folk that ass Philip has hooked up with. How the fuck could we know? If we know it was you, we would never touch that truck. You’re pal, Negan, me and my brother? We never mess with our pal.”

Negan seemed to be pleased.

“All right, pal.” He grinned at Anderson, hand reached down and pat the guy in the shoulder.

“First of all, _Ron_ ,” he emphasized the name in a decent manner. “--I want you to know how much I appreciated that. It’s really good to know I still have some respect in this ol’ town after all.”

The light tone eased off the nervousness on the face of the old Anderson’s. The feigned smile the man had been pulling with force turned into a sly smirk. Daryl was glancing at him over the guy between them, though he could only see the side of the man’s face, he could still recognized that how easily old Ron seemed to be returned to the lackey boy he used to be.

“Second of all,” Negan continued saying, “’ _Dixon’_? Seriously?” He turned his head and looked at Daryl with suspicious.

“You know I never peg you as the leader type, Daryl. So have you really changed this much when I’m not around, or is that someone doesn’t actually bring all the dumbfucks who’s responsible for my truck as they say?”

Though he was still facing Daryl’s direction, the sharpness of his voice was clearly targeting at someone else. Standing among her people, Jadis tipped her head nonchalantly.

“The old one took off,” she said, gaining a grim look from Negan.

“And the money? At least tell me he didn’t take off _with_ the money.”

Jadis shrugged.

“That is deeply disappointing,” Negan said in a cold voice. “We’ll get back to this, but first things first.” Shed one last glance to Jadis, he straightened his back and walked away from old Anderson.

“So,” he started. “Most of you here have known me from before, but for those who don’t, here’s a thing about me. I’m a simple man, with some simple rules. Anderson here remembers me, I’m sure he also remembers that I’m not a man who would just let people mess with me.”

He turned to Anderson, who suddenly resumed being unsettled.

Daryl didn’t need to get a clear look at his face to know what had risen in his mind. Ron and his brother were there at the schoolyard the day the Axel boy lost his legs. There’re a lot of guns in the scene, and these two had seen quite some gruesome thing in their whole life as a resident in this town. But Daryl could say that the memory of the barb-wired baseball bat was still giving them the jitters.

Some memory you just never forget. No matter how hard you tried. Just because you turned your eyes away, didn’t mean there’s a second that it wasn’t there.

“You mess with me, you pay the price,” Negan told them.

Ron dragged his face to smile. “Come on, Negan, let’s talk this out.”

“Oh shut it, will’ya?” the big guy next to Daryl spitted. “Bastard’s gonna kill us all anyway, what do you suck his dick for, you spineless little pussy.”

“Why, that’s where you wrong.” Negan turned to the man and gave him a look. “I don’t wanna kill you all, we all grow up in this ol’ town together. I even remember you. Douglas, right? Man, you’re still as fat as shit.” He flashed Douglas a friendly grin, as though the big guy hadn’t hated him ever since they were kid. Douglas glared at him in return.

Unaffected by the intense glare, Negan said easefully, “As you can see, I have my own people, but none of them is a local, so they don’t know shit about this town, which makes you guys an access to me, since I don’t just wanna pop up for a visit and do a delivery. I’m actually planning to stay, and I’ll much rather to have all of my ol’ pals working for me instead of kill any of you. But the rule is the rule, so, yeah, I’ll need to make an example. But don’t worry, just one of you will do.”

He was standing in front of Douglas by the time he was finished. Douglas, always quick with the temper, spited in one of those black leather boots.

Negan took a glance at his own boot then turned his eyes on Douglas.

“Go fuck yourself,” the big guy scoffed, holding up his head and stared Negan right in the eyes.

Looking blankly at Douglas for a moment, the corner of Negan’s lips twitched up slightly. “You know what?” he said to Douglas, “I’m glad you do that. It makes it so much easier for me to decide.”

Besides the campervan, there’re a few cars Negan’s men had driven to the meet up. Stepping to the moustache guy who had brought out a barb-wired baseball bat from one of those cars, he fetched the baseball bat over, then strolling back to Douglas. The big old townie glared at him defiantly, refused to act like a coward.

Negan weighed the baseball bat with his hands for a second, giving it an assessing look, before he held it properly and took a few swing for practice.

Both Daryl and Ron, who was at Douglas’s sides, turned their face away the instant Negan had made an actual swing. The baseball bat clashed into Douglas’s face, sending his head aside. The man’s face was broken by the hard blow, and the barb-wire torn opened his skin when the bat moved up for another strike.

Ron, who was less fortunate than Daryl, got the side of his face stained by the splash of spilled blood.

For about twenty minutes, no one said a word; no noises around but the consistent sound of impact, the muffled groan, the thudding, and the sound of someone choking on his own blood.

Next to Daryl, it was the kid Jimmy. The kid was hanging his head low, looking shittier and shittier in every passing second, and it wasn’t because of the bullet wound in his arm. His eyes clenched tightly, body trembling by the sound he couldn’t shut out as he did the sight.

Once the noises from Douglas had completely died out, Negan let out a small puff through his mouth, lifted a foot to roll the unresponsive body around from back to front.

Seeing a blob of brain dripped out when he rolled the body over, Negan drooped the baseball bat, bracing it on the ground.

“Now, here’s the example,” he announced in a light tone. “You mess with me, you pay the price, is that clear?” Took a random look at the line, he landed his eyes on Jimmy.

The kid’s face, which was already pale before, turned even whiter.

Again, the Savie said, all slow and articulate, “Is—that—clear--?” The kid replied with nothing but freezing on the ground like a frog under the eyes of a snake.

“Sweet Jesus,” Negan mumbled, annoyed by the lack of reaction. “What’s the matter with you, son? Have no one taught you about manner?”

He crouched slightly before Jimmy, towering the kid with his tall, strong figure. The expression he wore was stern, and his thunderous voice hitting the kid like a hammer.

“ _Speak when you spoken to_.”

The kid looked seconds away from passing out.

For fuck’s sake. “Leave the boy alone,” Daryl grumbled. The voice wasn’t strong, or sharp. It sounded even thicker and more raucous than normal, since he was hurt and tired, and his mouth was as dry as the desert. But Negan seemed to catch the word perfectly.

The bastard glanced at him. “You friends or somethin’?”

“No.”

“Then what the fuck, Daryl? What the living hell have you butted in for.”

If Merle was here, he would tell him to keep his mouth shut. “You’re a fucking bully,” he said in a low voice, eyes dashed at Negan’s face for a second before skipped away. “--Always has been, just like ye ol’ daddy.”

He hadn’t really wanted to drag Negan’s attention to him, but he got it anyway. Moved away from the kid, Negan squatted before him.

“Why, what can I say, I’m a goddamn Savie.” Negan tilted his head, mouth lifted up into a sneer. Those dark eyes of his were skinning Daryl’s face to its bone. “Unlike you,” he lowered his voice, “You’re not quite a Dixon, are you? The ol’ Dixons don’t grow sweet. But boy, ain’t you always such a sweet one.”

Something rose up in his guts, he pushed it down. “You made your damn example, haven’t you done enough?” Daryl said without meeting his eyes.

“I’ll do the fuck I want to do, and it’s enough when I say it’s enough,” Negan replied curtly. “Now, normally, I don’t tolerate that kind of disrespect, but I’ll give you a pass. For old time sake.” At the end of the sentence, he leaned in slightly, brushing the side of Daryl’s face with the warm breath.

He smelled mint, instead of alcohol. But for a second, the ghost taste of moonshine flooded Daryl’s mouth. Something tasted like shit and could blind your damn eyes with a sip. Something that could set your throat on fire and leave you the itch.

Negan bit his lips slightly, before he moved up. “One pass.” he explicated. “Or I’ll be forced to set another example. Possibly the kid,” he made a loose gesture at Jimmy, “He looked like he was going to drop dead anyway.”

Turned away from Daryl, he went back standing directly ahead of the kneeling men, dragging the blood-stained baseball bat across the ground as he moved.

“Now I’m done with these dumbasses, it’s time for a real talk,” he said, tipping his head at Jadis, who was standing unmovingly aside with a dull look on her face.

Negan regarded her for a moment.

“Damn girl, still has the same poker face,” he remarked with a smirk. “I could bet my ass you’re quite a card player, though I can’t remember I’ve ever played card with you. Why the hell is that?” He tossed a look at Jadis, acted all confused and marveled.

Jadis shrugged. “Your daddy didn’t like us.”

“Oh, well, couldn’t blame the ol’ man, you fuckers are creeps.” He looked around at the hill people. Seeing none of them had bat an eye for the half-ass insult, he seemed to be disappointed.

“Jesus, you junkies are boring!” he cried out in exasperation. “Word of advice, if you want to start playing with me, you better cut off the weed and clear your head a little.”

The woman lifted her lips into a vague smirk. “We don’t play.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, so this is not you playing game?” Negan retorted sarcastically. “So, what? You contacted my men, insisted to meet me in person, saying you have the dumbasses who took my shit all wrapped up and waiting for me, and this is just you showing your hospitality?”

Jadis didn’t say anything but just looked at him.

“You wanna feel me up, woman, that’s what you wanna do. Try to get your hands on me and figure out how many good I could give it to you,” he stated slowly in a sultry tone, looking lewd with the predatory gleam in his eyes and that seductive smile on his face.

As far as Daryl remembered, it’d always come natural to him. The game, the seduction. Something Daryl had never good at himself.

There’s this one time in the Monroe house party. _“Jesus—fucking--Christ--”_ the Savie boy had laughed in astonishment, standing right in front of the kitchen door, blocking Daryl’s way in. _“What the fuck was that?”_

Daryl had grunted, trying to get pass him. _“Nothin’. Move your ass, I wanna grab a beer.”_ The girl who he had been with just seconds ago had left the couch and disappeared somewhere into the crowd, possibly had gone to tell all of her girl friends what an asshole he was.

The taller boy had ignored his appeal to get inside the kitchen, tilted his head and searching for Daryl’s eyes that had determined to avoid him.

 _“A sweet beautiful thing has tried to give you a smooch, and you bolted right away,”_ the older boy had sighed, puffing warm breath into his face. _“Boy, you have seriously no game.”_

 _”Shut up.”_ He had knocked the older boy aside with his shoulder, walked into the kitchen under the sound of the hearty laughter.

Later, when he had strolled around looking for Merle, he had found the girl who had pressed her lips on his mouth just half an hour ago tangling with the Savie boy in the couch, sitting on his lap and having his hands under her shirt.

Feeing his gaze on them, the older boy had glanced at Daryl over the girl, with those big, sharp teeth still nibbling the rim of the girl’s ears, and his hands still roaming about the girl’s back. He had turned away the instant he had seen the smile.

Regarded Jadis for a moment, Negan continued saying, “I know you’ve bought the drug, doll face, and I know you’ve only told me that because you are damn confidence that no one could take shit from your hill.”

At that, the smirk that had dangled on Jadis’s lips deepened.

There’s no place around quite like the Scaven hill, they had all those nests inside, built up a varied topography that they knew it as the back of their hands. People didn’t get into their hill uninvited without getting shot, and even if they could, there nothing they could find. The Scavens were good at hiding shit. Rick had actually barged in there once, bringing a search warrant and some of his colleagues, trying to find anything that could help him build a case against the Scavens. He hadn’t found anything more than some rolls of weed and a few registered guns.

“The batch is ours,” Jadis declared simply. “You try to take it back, it won’t end well for ye.”

Negan let out a small whistle. “Look at her bark!” he remarked in exclamation.

“I know you are one freaky woman, but I don’t know you are batshit crazy. Guess whatever happened in this town does drive you up the wall, doesn’t it? That’s why you wanna meet up with me, right? Try to befriend some new people who could help you with the expansion?”

Jadis admitted, “There’re some vacancies in town. We could run things better than the one who offered you the deal.”

Few years ago, she wouldn’t even bother. People here didn’t always play fair with each other, but at least things had used to be as peaceful as you could get in such a place.

Everyone had had their own place, making money and minding their own business. But things had changed throughout the years. Some of the old people had become too old, and the young ones had developed a different idea of the future. A businessman had come into town with high ambition, trying to take things over and govern the whole damn town. People had died, and there’s a friendly marshal who grew up in Kentucky and had a trigger-finger had been demanding justice and getting on everybody’s back.

Jadis had always seemed to be satisfied with what she had, making money the same way her old mama had been. The old Scaven woman had made a treaty with the Savie and the Greene, and after the old woman died, Jadis had lived up to it ever since she had taken over.

Now with the old man Savie had also kicked the bucket a few months ago, leaving no one but some scumbags like the Dwight boy in charge, and with Philip stirring shit and shoving people out, no wonder she had decided to step up for herself and make a change.

“Those cityslickers don’t know how to handle things in here. We do.”

“I cannot agree with you more,” Negan nodded in response. “Thing is, I am not a slicker, I’m a Savie, just like my ol’ man, so don’t talk to me like I don’t know shit about this town.”

The change of expression was subtle, but it was there. The grim tone and the look in Negan’s eyes had brought up a slice of uneasiness on Jadis’s face. It was clear that she didn’t know who she would be dealing with when she had first made the contact.

Stared at her for a few seconds, Negan announced in a cold voice, “You keep the drug, but only as a prepay salary. You don’t befriend me, woman. And you most certainly won’t try to play me. From now on, you and your people work for me. You do what I say when I say it. You could make more money than before, but you make the money under my rule. That’s how it’s gonna be.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“That’s as good as you can get. The second you dumbasses failed to bring those fuckers to me _with_ the money, you are in no place of negotiation.”

He looked the woman straight in the eyes, voice cutting through the air with its sharp clarity. “You _answer_ to me. You _provide_ for me. You _belong_ to me—then you can keep you place in this town, and make more money than you used to make--Are we clear.”

Seconds later, Jadis dropped her gaze. “Yah.”

“Good,” Negan said in a plain voice, then waved his hand at Douglas’s direction and shoved the baseball ball into Jadis’s hands, “Now go be a doll and clean up that mess.”

Jadis frowned slightly, looking down at the stained baseball ball with disgust. But she did gesture her people to take care of the body nevertheless.

Turning away from the woman, Negan directed his attention back to the line of men.

“What a night--!” he grinned, bawling in announcement.

“Load them up, boys, we’re done in here.” He singled his men with a wave of a hand. Some of the cars engines rumbled while a few guys went to Daryl and the others, dragging them toward the back of the cars.

When the old Andersons had been pushed before an opened trunk, he said to the man beside him, “Come on, is this really necessary?” The man responded with a push on his back.

Both the Andersons had been stored in the trunks, then there’s Jimmy. The kid shambled to a car with an armed man by his side, climbing into the trunk slowly.

Daryl was the only one who couldn’t help himself but stirred in aggravation when someone yanked him up by his nape and kicked him into walk.

The moustache guy was waiting for him at the last opened trunk.

“Not that one,” Negan called out promptly, standing with one foot inside the campervan. “That one’s going with me.”

Without question, the man behind Daryl changed his course, pushed Daryl’s back with the gun and herding him toward the campervan and the Savie.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are highly appreciated!

He sensed the change of movement rather than caught it with his own two eyes. The alarm was going off, he could hear the sound of it shrinking from somewhere deep inside his hammered head, but he couldn’t be bothered enough to do a shit.

The boy was propping himself up with his knees on the dusted floor, crossing the bottles of moonshine between them. A hand of his reached up, all free and easy. Daryl regarded it the same way anyone would do a loaded gun.

The second the calloused hand landed on the side of his neck, a memory was summoned.

The memory of something, underneath the smell of pot and liquor; something too sharp for his damn skin. The close proximity had done bad thing to him, and he hadn’t even known (or maybe he did. Maybe he did all along, ever since the first time he had faced that damn fucking look that had gotten him to scram away out of survival instinct).

He remembered the biting gust that had brought up by the swing of the baseball bat. He remembered the words, the way that voice had grasped him like a rabbit trap (“ _You really don’t scare of shit, huh? Why, I can see it._ ”). He remembered those eyes, dark and raw with savageness, drilling into him slowly. And he remembered the open hunger, caught between those big teeth and that snake of a tongue.

Though he was never those who had started it, he had gone through enough pissing contests. It was far from the first time the older boy had big-dogged him, but it was the first time he had gotten himself into a situation that he might’ve been beaten to pulp.

He didn’t know what the hell had been wrong with him, except maybe he had been dosed out of his ass by the weed and the booze he had taken that day.

There had been a thing he could feel but didn’t like, writhing in somewhere deep and pitch-dark. It had only retreated when Merle, who had been knocked out on the floor, had stumbled up clumsily with a hand pressing on his face, and drawing their attention with a pained groan.

“ _What the shit just happened?_ ” his brother had mumbled confusedly, with no memory of how he had been knocked down on his ass when he had tried to give the Savie boy a punch.

Whatever in the air had been cleared up right as the instant Merle had come around. Now, Merle wasn’t here. There’s no one but the two of them.

When the boy leaned in, he reckoned immediately that it would be a strike. But the pressure on his lips had no strike in it. His lips were caressed and suckled softly.

Everyone in this town had to have stumbled on the Savie boy making out with some girls at least once. Daryl had his fair share of seeing the displays, though he had never let his eyes dwell onto it like most of the boys did, he had still caught enough glimpses to know that this was different. It wasn’t something so obscene, your nose would be filled with the tangy smell of sex merely by the sight of the straying hands and the lips on lips action.

Not all viscous and molten, the lips shifted in slow. It was almost tender, if there’s ever anything tender in this turdhole.

The older boy pulled back a few seconds later. Daryl didn’t move a muscle until then.

“The fuck was that?” His voice was thickened, by the smoke and the booze and the tightened pressure in his throat.

Sitting back on the floor, Negan picked up the cigarette he had left on the ashtray and took a drag. “That is the most dumbass question you’ve ever asked,” he drawled after blowing out the smoke. “It’s a smack, Daryl. Don’t you ever have some sugar before?”

The writhing thing was weighting in his belly. He didn’t like the feel of it. “I ain’t a fag,” he grunted bluntly, eyes refused to meet the other.

“I didn’t say you are,” Negan replied with a cynical smirk. “And I honestly couldn’t give a single fuck whether you are or you ain’t. A sugar is a sugar, just like a fuck is a fuck is a goddamn fuck.”

The cutting dark eyes were carving him, taking his every reaction into account. “What’s the matter, boy? Does the little intimacy make you piss your pants?” the older boy jeered.

“I ain’t scare of nothin’.” The word came out without thought, and the smirk on Negan’s lips was deepened immediately.

“Now that’s what I call a good quality,” the older boy remarked, snuffing out the cigarette in the filled ashtray next to his feet, then pulled himself up a little and placed the ashtray on the windowsill they were sitting under.

Daryl was tracing the movement with his eyes, so it didn’t really shock him when the older boy didn’t sit back on the floor but reached out for him the second time. The calloused hand took a rough hold on the back of his head, then the boy followed up, grinding his mouth with lips that were moistened by the hard liquor.

The last thing he had to fend out the invasion of his personal space was the knee he had drawn up in front of his chest. A hand shoved it aside effortlessly, making way for the Savie. His own hand was shooting up at the side of the other boy’s T-shirt, catching a handful of fabric as the same time Negan pressed in and suffocating him with the density of his body.

The mouth on his struck him with its full force. It was for real, this time. It wasn’t here for a taste but to take. There’s no sugar, it was only poison.

The rotation of hard rub and slow caress coxed Daryl’s mouth into open, and before he knew it, a tongue snaked in, raiding him with all the sweet-talks and demands. His tongue was dragged into compliance, and he was drowned under the biting taste of the moonshine.

The hand that had put away his knee was coasting up to the base of his thigh, taking it into a stern hold. Even with the torn-out jeans he was wearing, that part of his thigh was torched. The writhing thing inside Daryl was rattled, and he had no way to subdue it.

When the older boy pulled back, he pulled a muddled grunt out of Daryl’s mouth with him.

“Take off you clothes,” the Savie commanded, eyes as cruel as his voice, looking vicious with all the greed and the hunger.

It’s the last chance to get out of it unscratched. Daryl realized. It was his last chance to put a stop on it.

Glanced up at the older boy for a second, he then dropped his gaze. Unbuttoned his flannel shirt and tossed it aside roughly.

As always, his back was slightly hunched. But he was carrying himself like a man. A man who was all big and fearless, who ain’t ever scare of shit in his whole damn life.

With his eyes on Daryl, the corner of Negan’s lips curled up into his most sinister smirk.

 

***

 

He paused before the doorstep. The man who was herding him shoved his back roughly with the gun, warning him to take the step. He stepped up but with his elbow tossed back in retaliation. The elbow almost knocked the man in his face, then Negan, who was standing inside the door, took a loose grip on his nape and tossed him inside the campervan.

The force wouldn’t have made him lose his footing so easily if he wasn’t so weak from the wounds and the exhaustion at the moment.

Stumbled a few steps forward, he landed his ass on the floor. The door was pulled shut in a thud. He scrabbled a little, turning to face the bastard. His hands braced against the floor, ready to pounce at any second.

Regardless of how alerted he was, Negan gave him a glance over.

“Jesus,” he exclaimed, as though he was surprised somehow. “I have no idea how shitty you look until I have some proper light. There’s drink on the table and I’m sure you can find some food in the back. Go ahead and suit yourself.” After given Daryl the friendly suggestion, he tuned away and headed toward the driver seat.

Daryl looked up at the small table Negan had spoken of. There’s a half-filled bottle of whiskey on the table, along with some snack trash. The sight of the liquor gave his throat an itch. He was hardly the kind of old soak like his old man, but he was thirsty as hell, and damn if he needed some hard stuff.

Heaving himself up carefully, he shambled to the table, snatched the bottle in his hand, then opened it up and took a long swig.

He felt a bit more like a human when the sprit bought up the burning sensation in his throat and spread the fire into his empty stomach. So he took another draft, only enough to make him felt less fucked in the head, but not too much he would forget how fucked up he was now.

With one of his hands holding the bottle, he wiped his mouth with the back of the other. There’s a second he was honesty tempted to go check out the back as Negan said and find himself some food. But he fought against the temptation, because he wasn’t delusional. Though he doubted the bastard would shoot him in the back once he drop his guard down and go looking for food, but he was definitely not going to take any chances.

Sitting on the driver seat upfront, Negan was trying and failing to start the engine. “What a piece of shit--!” he shouted in exasperation, hands slapped at the wheel.

When Daryl was in the meet up, he hadn’t really paid much attention to the look of the campervan. The thing was kept in a decent shape, but it certainly had been running for ages. He took a look at the interior, while he put the cap on the whisky and set it down on the table. The van was homey, like someone had been living in it for years.

“Isn’t it ol’ Dale’s car?” he blurted out with suspicious, right as the moment the van started to rumble.

“Finally!” Negan bawled, pleased at the fact that he had gotten the damn thing to run.

Glancing at Daryl through the rear-view mirror, he replied nonchalantly, “Well, of course it’s ol’ Dale’s car. You don’t think I would buy myself this piece of turd, will ye?” He explained while the car started to move, “I bumped into the old geezer on my way here. Damn sonofabitch’s still as annoying as shit. No wonder his ol’ woman and his kids would run away.”

Daryl hummed noncommittally.

The old man was all about moral and stuff, always thought of himself as some sort of protector of this town. All those years he had been in the sheriff’s office, he had tried to save this shithole from the hands of the “bad people”. His wife, a wise woman, had recognized how stupid it was, long before he had lost his job in his fight against the criminals.

He saw the town as a damsel in distress, instead of the stinky whore she was in the reality. He should’ve opened his eyes after his woman had left him and taken the children away, but somehow he just managed to keep himself blind, still sticking his nose into other people’s business and delusionally believed that one day things would somehow be different if people would just listen to him and be better than what they’re made of.

In the eyes of old Dale Horvath, there’s nothing worst than the old Savie man. The biggest tumor in this place, who also had been responsible for his dismissal from the sheriff’s office decades ago.

Dale despised the old Savie with passion. And although it had bought up a lot of problem, the day the old Savie caught a bullet in his chest was probably the best thing that had happened to him for a long, long time.

Daryl could easily imagine how upset he got when he had seen the junior had return, since he had always thought Negan was just as bad as his old man.

The Savie’s voice was laced with amusement, “Old fool thinks I’m here to create troubles. Talked my ears off with a bunch of craps and told me to leave. Can you believe that?”

“What the hell did you do to him.”

“Oh God,” Negan tossed him a look through the mirror. “Please don’t tell me you bought any of his bullshit.”

He didn’t. He never liked the old geezer much, in fact, he thought the old man was even worst than the town priest. The black priest at least knew how to keep his mouth shut when he was told, the old man never did. But just because he didn’t buy any of the man’s lectures, didn’t mean he thought Dale deserved to be put under the ground or something.

He stared at Negan in silence.

“Settle down, boy,” the man replied scornfully. “Ol’ geezer’s fine. You think I’m gonna beat the shit out of an old man or somethin’? I mean, sure, I don’t like people giving me crap, but I’m not a monster.”

“So you just took the ol’ guy’s car, where he lived in.”

“Well, ol’ bastard did say I just like to ‘ _take whatever I want_ ’,” Negan said. And Daryl didn’t need to take a look on his face to reckon the smirk.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna keep it. This real piece of crap is useless beyond belief. He can have it back, and die with it for all I care,” the campervan was moving smoothly on course while Negan was saying. The curtains around were pulled down, left only the front screen to show the sight of the road. The cars Negan’s men were driving were ahead of them.

For a while, it seemed like they all headed to the same direction. But then Negan took a right turn at the crossroad, parted way with his men.

“The fuck are you going?”

“Back to the hotel,” Negan told him. “It’s been a long night, and daddy need some real food. So I’m gonna head back to the hotel and order myself a room service.”

“What about the Andersons and the kid?”

“They’re going to be put into somewhere while my men have a talk with them. I own your jackasses now. I’m gonna put those three into work, but not without getting to know them a little better first. You think I’m gonna trust a sneaky bastard like old Ron just because he’s got a brownest nose?”

He didn’t think the old Savie had ever trusted anyone if you asked him. He didn’t think anyone had really trusted anyone in this place, actually.

“Why am I not with them.”

“Because,” Negan said, “I’ve already know enough of you, Daryl.”

For some reasons, his stomach felt heavy, and he chewed his lips a little. “You ain’t know shit about me,” he grunted, catching a sight of something on the couch seat only a few steps away.

It’s a fucking gun, just lying in there. Whether it belonged to Negan or Dale, he didn’t know, and it wasn’t important. What important was, he had to get the hell out of here. Negan wouldn’t just leave Merle with the drug money. He would want the old Dixon back, and Daryl was the only one who knew exactly where his brother might be.

Before Negan could say anything in response, Daryl headed toward the gun and picked it up.

“Stop the damn car,” he demanded, getting closer to the driver seat with the gun pointing at the Savie’s head.

 

***

 

He saw the car once he had gotten out of old Samuel’s with a bag full of moonshine, cigarettes and beef jerky. At first, the car didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping but kept moving leisurely in the lane, but it changed its mind eventually, pulling aside the pavement.

The car window was rolled down; the older boy placed his arm over the opened window and poked his head out. “Hey, asshole,” he hailed at Daryl. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothin’. Just running errand for the ol’ prick,” he replied with a half shrug, raising the heavy bag in gesture. “The hell you’re doing?” he returned the question. But the older boy ignored him, taking a look at the stuffed plastic bag, then let out a whistle.

“Quite some juice you got in there. Ready for a father and son time?” The asshole made an impressed look at the liquor.

“Fuck off,” Daryl grumbled impatiently. It wasn’t a secret that his old man had a temple or that he was an angry drunk, but just because he took crap at home, didn’t mean he needed to take crap from anywhere else.

He was about to walk away, but Negan reached out at him promptly, with a bit of guilt on his face. “Hey, sorry, man,” he said apologetically, “I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit.”

Glimpsed at the older boy, he shrugged. “Nah,” he said. “It’s fine.” He wasn’t really pissed anyway. People said shit a lot of times, he had already gotten used to it, just as he did to the beating. Everyone took a slap or a punch from their old man every once in a while, he and Merle just took it more often than most.

Regarding the other boy for a brief moment, he asked, “How’s the funeral?”

“Suck balls,” Negan replied with a sneer.

It had been a while since they had run into each other. With Merle’s in jail, the old man had no one else to lash out to but him. When the old Savie woman passed away, he had been keeping himself in the woods, trying to catch a break from his old man.

Practically the whole town had come to the cemetery to pay their respects, including his old man. Daryl had only heard about the news until he had come home. Old prick had given him quite a beating once he had showed his face, saying he didn’t even have the decency to show up at the funeral, and that he didn’t know shit about respect, which was just bull, because the old prick had never bothered to went in search or him, not even for dragging his ass to the funeral, and he certainly didn’t respect old Lucille more than any woman he called bitch.

According to his old man, no one had ever expected the old Savie woman would come around. After she had been diagnosed with cancer and been sent to the state hospital, her son was the only one who had kept visiting her till the end, while her old husband had been busy running his business and banging some other woman as usual. Daryl didn’t know was it true or was it just another drunk talk of the old prick, but from what he had heard about the old Savie man, it didn’t sound unbelievable to him that the man would never shed a tear for his old wife.

He tried to say something nice, but he was shit at saying things, and he had absolutely no idea what the hell he should say to someone who just lost the person he had loved most.

“I’m sorry, man,” was the only something he could pull out of his mouth.

No response to his dry words, Negan regarded him with eyes that seemed somehow darker than usual. Not in color though, the color didn’t appear to be different. But there’s something in his eyes, something thick and suppressive.

Sucking his teeth a little, the older boy asked offhandedly, “I’m going some place, wanna come?” Daryl scowled.

“Ol’ prick will be pissed if I don’t bring the stuff back home soon.”

“And I thought you don’t scare of shit.”

“I don’t.”

“Then hop right in, boy,” Negan flashed him a seductive grin. “Nothing scary here anyway, I promise I’ll give you a good time.” The way he voiced made it sound dirty.

Daryl always got uneasy with that; those suggestive smile and meaningful words. And the bastard knew it.

Avoiding the older boy’s gaze, he grunted in annoyance, “Knock it off.”

Negan laughed, while Daryl stepped off the pavement slowly and getting into the car.

 

***

 

“I said, stop the damn car,” he repeated in his most clear voice, and cocking the gun just to make it more clear.

Negan glanced at him through the rear-view mirror.

“Holy motherfucker--!” he shouted in surprise. “Oh my shit! Daryl! Where the fucking hell did you get that? Did you just pull it out of your ass?” He tried to say it with a shocked face, but the mocking expression only held for a few seconds.

He caught his lips with his teeth, seemed to be stopping himself from bust out laughing. “Okay, you got me,” the bastard said after taken a deep breath. “Now, what do you wanna do with me.”

“I’m gonna blow your head if you don’t stop the damn car.”

“Well, that’s just cold. I thought even after all these years, you and I are still friends.”

“We ain’t friends,” Daryl mumbled, holding the gun steadily in his hand.

Those dark eyes regarded him thoughtfully.

“But if we ain’t friends, then I honestly don’t know what the hell we are.”

Daryl paused for a second. “Doesn’t matter,” he grunted. “Pull over, then we’ll go our separate way.”

“Why, that’s the problem, isn’t it? I can’t let you go, Daryl. I mean, assumed I do pull over and let you get off the car, what then? You don’t believe I would just let you off the hook, do you? Just let you and your dumbass brother take my money and skip town?”

The car was still running smoothly on the road. Negan tossed him a humorous look through the mirror.

“You know I’ll have to hunt the both of you down. You boys can run, but in the end, I’ll find you, and whatever happens then, it won’t be pretty.” Eyes focusing on the road, he stated with reason, “Seriously, the only thing you can do to end this, it’s to use that gun and give me a bullet right here right now. Sure my men would still want to hunt you down, but those jackasses are nothing without me.”

He tipped his head in a gesture of encouragement.

“C’mon, let see how you do it.”

It’s a good advice. Daryl had to admit.

The road outside was practically empty at this moment, there’re only a few cars ahead, all of them were at a distance, nobody would give a rat-ass even the campervan stopped in the middle of the road. Without any of the Savie’s men around, he could get away easy. Just blow off the bastard’s head, probably take over the wheel before the car lost control.

He would find Merle, and he would go back to the pub and give Carol a goodbye. They wouldn’t be able to see each other for a while, until things were clear. He trusted Carol to take care of herself, she’s a strong woman, so he wouldn’t worry about her.

He wetted his lips a little, aiming the gun directly at the back of Negan’s head. He was a hell of a shot, and he would be damn if he missed in this range.

Just find Merle and get the hell out of this turdhole. Though he wasn’t sure where his brother was planning to go, but anywhere would be fine with him. If he could survive this place, he could survive anywhere.

“ _Have you ever thought about leaving this turdhole?_ ” sitting across him with a bottle of moonshine in his hand, the older boy had asked, all those years ago, at the last time they had seen each other.

He didn’t leave this place the first and the only time he had been offered a chance.

“Fuck,” cursed under his breath, Daryl moved in a flash.

The campervan halted abruptly the instant the gun was swung. Before the gun could club the man in his head as Daryl had planned, a hand caught his wrist then a fist slammed in his face.

The gun was squeezed out his hand, dropping onto the floor. He tried to retreat, but the man stepped away from the driver seat and grasped quickly at his shoulder.

The fist slammed into his stomach this time. Daryl grunted in pain, falling down on the floor once the hand on his shoulder had lifted its grip. The dropped gun was only an arm away. He scrambled on the floor quickly, trying to reach for the gun.

Negan got to it first.

The gun pressed against his forehead, forcing Daryl to sit back on the floor.

“Jesus Christ, Daryl!” the bastard cried out in mock astonishment, “I don’t think you know how to use a gun.” Squatting down slowly, Negan pulled up his long fringe with the spare hand.

The gun was pressing tightly on Daryl’s forehead. Negan inspected him for a moment. Tongue rolled over the back of his teeth, then he pulled the trigger.

Instinctively, Daryl shut his eyes, but he wasn’t flinching.

The empty tick from the gun made him feel like a jackass.

“I did told you this van is a real piece of crap. You think you could find anything useful in here?” The bastard was grinning when he opened his eyes.

Putting the gun away, Negan leaned in closely, slashing Daryl’s skin with his hard stubble.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you fire the gun?” he murmured, in false curiosity. The voice was pouring directly into Daryl’s ears and swimming in deep.

“I was so damn sure you would’ve wanted to get some sweet hot fluid out of me.”

As though he was burnt, Daryl tossed his head away from the Savie. He was tense under the close proximity, and he refused to meet those eyes. He could feel it, something writhing in the deep of his belly. He didn’t like the feeling.

It had been ages, and somehow, it was still easily rattled by a certain threat.

Seeing how he was unsettled, a hand reached up and stroked his head gently. “Next time you point a gun at me,” Negan was saying, with the tip of his nose brushed against Daryl’s cheek. “—you better shoot.”

Unlike his movement, his voice was stone cold.

Negan dropped his hand and stood up. “Now, don’t make me get up again,” he warned solemnly. “And if you still wanna try anything, remember, I’m the only one here who packed with the real thing.” He patted his holster in suggestion, before headed back to the driver seat and started the engine again.

 

 

 


End file.
